


Half-Sweet?

by aiden_13



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiden_13/pseuds/aiden_13
Summary: A cute little milk-tea shop, SFW (though there is some swearing and mild violence warning), reader x Junkrat story! Gender-neutral pronouns for the reader :) escapism from current stresses was the inspo here!





	Half-Sweet?

You stare at the long line of people stretching out the door. The forecasters said it was going be hot, hot day and it seemed like the entire city wanted cold drinks.

“Can I get a medium taro milk tea?” The customer half-shouts. The buzz of conversation filled the air in the tiny shop.

“Of course,” you chirp happily, scribbling the order on the “medium” plastic cup. “Dairy or non-dairy creamer? What level of sweetness?”

Get a degree they said, you’ll get a better job they said. 

“Uh…. non-dairy please, and normal sweetness, oh and with mini-boba,” the customer produced their credit card. 

You hand off the annotated plastic cup to the tearista closest to you and close the transaction. 

It had been almost 5 months since you graduated and one month since you gave up on the job search in your field. 

The milk tea job you worked as an undergraduate took you back and gave you a managerial position to boot because of your experience, but it still felt like returning to square one. You didn’t like being here. Graduating was supposed to be the finisher, the closing statement in the old chapter of your life. But student loan deferment only lasted 6 months and you couldn’t bear asking your family to foot the bill… so milk-tea it was. It’s not so bad. Just lonely. All the tea-ristas share classes and everyone got to commiserate about midterms and projects and finals. You… you’re still living in the same crowded flat trying to make it in a big city… 

“Uhm… *your name*…” one of the tearistas touched your arm, bringing you back to reality. 

You notice the sudden quiet; there’s only the gentle whir of the air conditioning unit. The line had vanished. The seated customers all had wide eyes and terrified expressions. 

It takes you a moment to realize the tall man standing before you. He stares at the drinks menu, quietly murmuring to himself. His grenade launcher rests on his shoulder, glistening in the bright sunlight. 

“Let’s see here….” he pause, rubbing a sooty thumb across his chin in deep thought. 

His enormous companion grunts. You could see the big man roll his eyes beneath the weathered mask. 

“I know, Roadie, I know, sheesh… let a man think about it will ya’?” The tall man tuts. 

You gulp. The infamous Junkrat and Roadhog stood before you. You’ve heard stories on the news of their misdeeds: murder, arson, grand theft and grand larceny…

Someone must’ve tried to make a run to the back room because before you could blink, a heavy chain whipped by you. You turn to see a panicked employee hooked back. He slams forward into counter, inches from you with a small scream, then slumped to the ground in a gasping heap, clutching at his stomach. 

Junkrat turns to face you and your staff with a toothy smile, “Ah yeah, wouldn’t try doing that if I were you, mate.” 

Roadhog shook his head and rewound his chain, huffing. 

“Alright, alright, shut up, I’ll order. You sure you don’t want nothin’?” 

Despite the mask, you could feel the glare. The older junker has his arms crossed and taps his foot impatiently. 

“Fine, but you’re missing out. This place’s got like 4.5 stars on those review sites or whatever,” Junkrat turns to you, grin on his face. 

You could feel your legs wobbling but you force a smile and cheery voice, “Welcome! What can I get you?”

“Large original milk tea, half-sweet with extra boba, darl,” he grins. 

“We use a dairy creamer in all our teas, unless non-dairy creamer is requested. What would you prefer?” 

“Whatever tastes better.”

You smile cheerily, feeling faint, “I recommend the dairy creamer, richer flavor and whatnot.”

You write the drink order out extra carefully, taking time to strike all the t’s. You place the cup on the counter and turn to your crew, pleading look in your eyes, “We have a large original milk tea, half-sweet with extra boba!” 

The tearistas look at each other and no one dare move. 

Junkrat chuckles and pats his grenade launcher, “Time is money, loves, and I hate to get apprehended before I get to drink my milk tea.” 

You looked around the shop, feeling your breathing shallow. Your team gave a small whimpering noise, and something inside you ticked. 

You turn to Junkrat and gave a small bow. You put on your best customer-is-always-right voice, “Many apologies, sir! The team is unused to performing under pressure. Your order will be out right away!” 

He cocks a quizzical brow, but lowers his weapon. 

You grab the cup, stepping over your wheezing coworker. It was like muscle memory. Grab the shaker, measure out 5 parts black tea base, 1 part dairy-creamer base, 1 part sweetener syrup. For a half sweet, adjust to 6 parts, and 1 part dairy-creamer, and 1 part sweetener syrup. Shake the tea with ice, vigorously, just like making a martini. Strain and ladle boba into the cup. Top with ice. Pour the shaken tea. Lid on and present with straw.

“Order ready! Large original, half sweet with extra boba.” 

He steps forward, tearing the straw from the wrapper with his teeth. He stabs it into the cup and takes a massive sip. Junkrat throws his head back, “Fuck that’s good!” 

You manage a weak smile. Red and blue lights streak across your vision and you hear a voice, filtered over the megaphone. 

“JUNKRAT AND ROADHOG, THIS IS THE POLICE! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!”

Roadhog groans, muttering to himself. Something about a stupid rat. 

Unfazed, the junker leans towards you, over the counter, “This has honestly got to be the best milk tea I’ve had in a while.”

“WE KNOW YOU HAVE HOSTAGES, WE WANT TO NEGOTIATE. WE ARE PREPARED TO PAY ANY AMOUNT.”

Without taking eyes off you, Junkrat cocks his head towards the door, “Ay, Roadie, mind telling the cops we’ll be off soon? We…” -his eyes roam over you- “..we got what we wanted.” 

The giant man walks out the door and you hear a deafening shatter. People begin screaming and you could swear Roadhog single-handedly just hooked and smashed a police car into the street lamp. 

You give a nervous smile and laugh, “Y-yeah! We make our own dairy creamer mix and soak the boba in a honey syrup. Makes… makes it tastier that way.” 

“The half-sweet is just right. Not many places get it right,” he keeps looking at you. His eyes bore into you and you feel naked, exposed. 

“I get that,” you keep grinning nervously, feeling your cheeks flush, “sometimes it’s too sweet to be half-sweet. Sometimes it’s like…watered down milk tea.”

He leans in closer, and you find yourself not pulling away. You’re close enough you can see the soot and ash baked into his skin. You can see the singed edges of his hair, see the glowing edges where it’s actively burning. He smells smoky with an unctuousness of burnt rubber and much to your surprise, he’s sweet the way gasoline smells sweet. 

“Come with me.”

You blinked, “Wha?”

“Come with me,” he extends his hand to you. 

Courage surged through you, “If… If I come with you, will you promise not to hurt anyone else here?”

“Course, darl,” there’s a gentleness in his voice. He’s coaxing you. You know it. He patiently sips his drink, waiting for an answer.

You give one final brave, smile to your staff, helping up the tearista on the floor, “Uhm… uh, be good everyone. Pleasure working with you all.”

You unclip your name badge and grasp his hand. Electricity surges through you, you feel free. He helps you up and over the counter and next you know you’re walking into the scorching outside. Sweat immediately beads on your forehead.

You throw your hands in the air, “Stop! STOP! He’s letting everyone go!!” 

Roadhog pauses mid-punch. The police officers straighten up from behind their cars. One shouts through the megaphone, “STOP OR WE’LL SHOOT! JUST DROP THE WEAPON AND LET THE HOSTAGE COME FORWARD.”

You halt right at the doorway, frozen in fear at the number of guns pointed at you… or rather in your direction.

Junkrat emerges next to you and practically snorts, “Can’t do that mate, also something tells me you won’t shoot, not with this lovely civilian next to me.” 

The officer points at him, confidence in his voice, “That’s where you’re wrong. We have trained snipers! Now… let the civilian walk forward…” 

Roadhog drops the poor sap he’s been punching and turns. Unusual, the police officers don’t usually break out the snipers this early, but then again there was that massive 25 million dollar bounty placed on their heads a few continents back.

Junkrat runs a hand through what hair he has left and chuckles, “Nah, nah Roadie, I got this.”

The cop is looking at you, motioning for you to come forward. You’re rooted in place. Not from pain, not from danger. But fear of losing your chance. He’s your chance. This is it. This is the only time in your life you’ll be able to escape. To leave. 

You turn to Junkrat. Eyewitnesses that day would swear to the media that the poor hostage had a look of utmost desperation and horror in their eyes. But Junkrat knew otherwise.

“Right,” he softly murmurs. He steps forward, closing the distance between you. 

“STOP RIGHT THERE OR ELSE WE’LL SHOOT!” 

Before you knew it, the junker loomed over you and his hand closed around your throat. Keeping a firm, but gentle grip. In his right hand, he produced a terrifying looking explosive, “How about you stop, or else we’ll blow this poor thing up to bits.”

The officer stopped for a moment, an unmistakable breaking in his voice, “The sniper is trained to hit marks within an inch. GIVE UP! We have you surrounded.” 

Roadhog shakes his head. 25 million dollar bounties could make people do crazy things but come on. These guys are supposed to be professionals. Where were these guys getting trained? Hostage 101, do not escalate the situation. But then again, Rat was being unusually calm. 

Junkrat pulls you closer, you can feel the heat emanating off his skin, “Willing to bet an innocent bystander’s life on that?”

The officer pauses for a bit.

“Tell you what, mate,” Junkrat drops the explosive at your feet (eliciting a gasp from the officers), “We’ll be going now, and this precious sweetheart is coming with us. Call it uh… shit, what is it called again, Roadie?”

Roadhog grunts.

“Ah! Right! Insurance… call it insurance!” He produces a remote trigger from his pocket and wiggles it at the policeman, red button gleaming tauntingly. “Let me and Roadie go, give us, ehhh let’s say and 3 hour head start and no harm will come to hostage.” 

The officer grits his teeth, his hand shoots for the radio at his hip. 

In a moment of inspiration you start crying. Years of customer service taught you how to fake a smile and a chipper attitude. It’ll help you now. You struggle against the junker’s grip, pleading, “I don’t want to die!! Just give him what he wants!! For the love of god! Listen to him!!!” 

Junkrat grinned, trying to stifle a giggle, “Ya’ heard ‘em. Now, move before I paint the road red with both our guts.” 

You keep at it, laying the desperation on thick, “Please!!! My coworker’s in the shop and he’s injured! Let them go or else he’ll die!!” 

The junker shrugs, “Ya heard ‘em mate… clock’s tickin’.”

The officer furrows his brow before finally speaking into the microphone, “Stand down. I repeat stand down.” 

“Alright, plug your ears darl’ this is gonna be loud,” Junkrat stoops down and scoops you up in one fluid motion.

You watch the officer’s face contort in a scream and then nothing but bright white. A deafening bang destroys your ears, and you’re sailing. The scream in your throat doesn’t even make it out, but you grip onto him tighter, digging your nails in. 

He rolls as he lands, protecting you in his embrace. You’re a bit smoky, but unscathed. Your ears are still ringing and the vertigo from the sudden launch is making your vision spin.

A rough hand hoists the both of you up and you feel motion again. This time you’re being propelled forward. 

“Damn shame you didn’t get to try that milk tea, Roadie,” Junkrat positions you more comfortably in the sidecar, gently moving an arm or a leg there. 

The older junker grunts, “Don’t like it.”

You whizz through the city, past your old college, your old haunts… this, this was it. There’s no going back. 

The sound of sirens wailing pulls you out of the haze. The younger junker, the infamous Junkrat, pulls out his grenade launcher and began loading a fresh clip of bombs. 

The grenades launch forward with a ga-thunk! and the cars swerve to avoid them, losing speed in the process. 

“Had enough of Junkrat and Roadhog, yet??” 

You watch him, manic, explosive glory and all. His silhouette in sharp relief with the blazing sun behind him. And this… this was what you had been needing. The adventure you’d be wanting. You are literally being whisked away and though shit was crazy… though you could never return to the familiar.. this was it. You smiled. He caught your eye and the crazed expression mellowed, protectiveness replacing the blood-thirstiness. Your eyes begin to flutter, feeling your body black out from the exhaustion, sleeping into the deep sleep you much needed. Half-sweet. This was all half-sweet.


End file.
